


Bang, Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)

by Enzuri



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Gun Violence, Humanstuck, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Porn, Sadstuck, Suicide Attempt, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enzuri/pseuds/Enzuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His name is Sollux Captor and he's on a lot of medications.</p>
<p>At least that's what they tell you when they come to tell you he's moving back. Well not really moving back but he's getting out of the hospital. You suppose that was supposed to help sooth your nerves or something on the situation but it doesn't. You're not ready for him to come back yet. You don't know if you'll ever be ready.</p>
<p>Your name is Eridan Ampora and you watch from your apartment window as they bring him from the car to the front door. He looks up and you've vanished into the shadows of your room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bang, Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS TRIGGER WARNINGS, please read the tags. And please PLEASE tell me if I didn't tag something I should have. Okay. Enjoy.

His name is Sollux Captor and he's on a lot of medications.

At least that's what they tell you when they come to tell you he's moving back. Well not really moving back but he's getting out of the hospital. You suppose that was supposed to help sooth your nerves or something on the situation but it doesn't. You're not ready for him to come back yet. You don't know if you'll ever be ready.

Your name is Eridan Ampora and you watch from your apartment window as they bring him from the car to the front door. He looks up and you've vanished into the shadows of your room.

You watch him a lot. Or at least whenever you can. You have a corner apartment so you can see when he leaves, when he comes back and the side window let's you see him when he's out under the big tree. He's the only one brave enough to sit there, there's a huge bee hive in the trees branches. He told you once that's exactly why he would sit there, so he could watch them. Sometimes he takes his computer out there with him but that's painful to watch because you can see how quickly he gets frustrated with it. Once upon a time you couldn't get him away from the damn thing when he was coding but now it looks like he struggles with it.

There's something missing in his eyes, they're vacant and glossy. There looks like there's nothing left of the boy you once loved. You thought you were done with heart ache but it breaks every time you see him.

You take his picture, when he's out there under the tree. You used to paint but after that night your dominant hand has never been the same so you escaped into the world of photography. It was an art form even you could do. But taking his picture isn't enough. You fingers it,h to take up the brush again. You shouldn't, you'll only end up upset when things don't turn out right but you go into your old studio anyway. You haven't been in here since the doctors told you that your shoulder was badly damaged and that you'll never have full use of it again. You'd ruined a few of your canvases before collapsing into the corner, heaving heavily as you stared at a love you had to give up. There's a covered canvas on the easel. You leave it that way, you don't have the skills to finish the painting underneath, or the drive for that matter.

You pick a fresh canvas, get some fresh paints and zone out, eyes locked through lenses on the white fabric. You don't know how long you sit like that before you finally raise a shaky hand to begin. You're surprised. You'd tried to paint that day, the one when you trashed this place, it had been a horrible mistake but now, now things aren't great but they're better. It's probably because you insisted on keeping a handwritten journal, the writing was good for rebuilding the nerves that had been damaged. This isn't going to be a masterpiece but its got the essence of your soul and that's what matters.

You have to take more breaks than you ever had to before, not for the paint but for your own self. That's okay. It feels fucking amazing to have a brush in your hand again.

You see him at the local diner one day. You're in the corner table so he doesn't see you. You're not sure he sees anything. He's ranting about the honey, about how it affects your mind, makes you crazy, makes you do stupid things and you wince. It's not the honey just your mind you think. You can't watch as Karkat ushers him out of the place to try to minimize the scene caused. He sees you and just nods. You wait until they've disappeared from view before you let the tears welling fall. The waitress doesn't bother you, she knows the story. You're not sure there's anyone who doesn't know it. When you leave you can feel everyone's eyes on you.

You're trying to study your history notes when there's a knock on your door. You almost don't get up to answer, it's obviously someone from your building and your heart squeezes as you wonder if it's him. It can't be though, he's been back a month and hasn't tried to seek you out so you get up to find out who it is. Karkat stands in the hallway, tapping his foot with impatience when you peer through the peephole. He comes over a lot for movies and gossip, or he used to at least, before Sollux came back. Somehow you don't think that's what he wants to do now either. You open the door enough to look out but not enough to let anyone in.

"He fucking talks about you a lot."

"W-what's your point?" The stammer in your voice is back, you're too upset to try and hide it with this topic of conversation.

"I'm not here to tell you to be friends with him, but you do need to go see him at least once asshole. He needs to fucking apologize or some shit. It's a part of his therapy."

"I'm sorry Kar. It ain't gonna happen. I just can't. Now-w w-why don't you go back to him, since you're his fuckin' nursemaid now-w." That was harsh and you know it. He flips you a well deserved bird and storms off. You close your door and sink to the floor, breathing in great gasps. You turn into a useless pile of human being for a good half an hour, lost in a world of what ifs.

When you finally pull yourself together you head straight to your studio, ripping the cloth off of that one painting. Maybe you'll never have the skill you once had but you need to finish this. You can't have it in here anymore. You stay up all night working on it and when the dawn comes and you see it in natural sunlight you frown. It was an unusual project for you anyway, gorier than your usual fair and it's really obvious where your skills were lost but something about its messy lines fits the subject. Fire and grey matter, you were painting this for him before that night. You don't know why you felt compelled to finish it now but it's like a weight has been taken off your shoulders. You stumble out of the studio and end up face down on your bed, fully clothed, fast asleep.

When you get up it's hours later and your vision is bleary as you straighten up a bit. You grab the painting and stop at the mirror, fiddling with your hair. You don't know why you're bothering, you don't need or want to impress him, he's seen you at your very worst already but still you take a few minutes to get yourself looking perfect. You tell yourself it's because you don't want him to know what a mess you've become now but really it's because you're still hopeless for him and you want him to see you at your best. You want him to still want you which is fucked up considering everything that's happened.

He looks tired when he answers the door, tired and surprised. Both of you stand in an awkward silence before you raise the canvas in your hands as an explanation. He waves you in and this hurts more than anything has ever hurt before. He looks like a shell of the man you remember, it's breaking your heart all over again. You have to take a few deep breaths before you can cross through the doorway, into the apartment where you spent so much time before. You try not to look, you know better but your eyes are drawn to that corner like a magnet. Someone painted the walls a cheery blue but you know under all of that the wall is stained red with your blood. You wonder who cleaned it all up, it looks like New carpet too.

He holds his hands out for the canvas and a second magnet draws your eyes to his wrists when you hand him the painting. He's wearing sweatbands but you know underneath there's angry, jagged scars. You wonder what colour they painted his bathroom to cover up his attempt. You swallow hard, the bile in your throat rising up to choke you when you imagine what would have happened if no one had come in time.

"Fuck Ampora, thith ith awethome." He took off his stupid 3D glasses to get a better look at your gift. "It'th exactly right."

"Good. It's yours."

"I can't have it. I'm not thuppothed to have anything or talk about thith thuff anymore."

"Right. Sorry. Giv-ve it here then."

"I won't tell if you won't. It'th tho perfect."

The smile you give him is somehow more melancholy than your previous expression. You can keep a secret for him. You can do anything for him, if he asks. You just, can't be in here right now, the air is too heavy and they didn't clean up well enough because you can still smell the coppery salt that filled your nostrils the last time you were here. You rush to the door because everything is going black and you can't handle this, why did you think you could handle this?

"Wait. It wath Cronuth'th."

"I know-w."

You fight the urge to break down in the elevator ride up to your floor. You fail. You knew it was Cronus's gun, hehe told you. Crying and stuttering and barely understandable he told you in the hospital after the surgery that mostly saved your shoulder. How it ended up with Sollux was a mystery to him but you're pretty sure he probably dropped it, left it behind. Your dad nearly disowned him for that but it was an accident and you were alive and in the end that's what mattered most. Sollux had been angry, out of his mind, lost in a world only he knew and you provoked him and he fired with a gun you recognized but didn't really see. Then he'd realized what he'd down and tried to join you in death. He was so certain you were dead there was so much blood.

You barely get your door closed before you start gasping for air because there is none. Everything in ringing in your ears, the bang of the gun when it went off in his hands, haunting you even now. Finally the bile wins and you barely made it to the bathroom before you're vomiting acid. You shake, eyes burning with tears they won't let fall and you just want to curl into the void inside yourself. The void he left inside your heart after you gave him the key. You don't manage it, you still exist, everything still exists including this pain that radiates from your core into every nerve of your being. You lay down on cold bathroom tiles and try to will the world away.

There's a knock on your door. It's what tells you that the ringing in your ears is gone. It takes almost more than you have to get to your feet, to answer it. You should close it again when you see who it is but you step to the side to let Sollux in.

"Fithdick, you have no fucking mannerth. I wath talking to you when you ran off." There's an affectionate tone in his insult but there's more life flashing in his eyes right now than you've seen since he came home. "I wath trying to apologithe. Let me fucking apologithe, okay ED?"

You can't say anything, there's a lump caught in your throat but you nod and give him the okay. His old nickname for you is like a fucking choir of angles singing. You've missed it. Saying sorry wasn't going to change a fucking thing. He'll still have shot you, everything will still be in pieces around you with no way of putting anything back together again, or at least to make it whole. But maybe, just maybe an apology would help you find the first part of the puzzle that is your heart now. You're not sure if that's what happens because when his sorry fills the silence you're gasping again, as if you can catch the words in your lungs and imprint them on your soul. 

You feel his hands on your face, holding on, thumbs running along your cheeks. You hate it when he does that because it always brings your defences crashing down. You know better than to do what you're about to do but you aren't going to stop yourself. You don't know if you can. His lips are just as warm as you remember them, just as soft, even with his braces behind them. Your tongue grazes over them like always and vaguely you wonder if he'll ever get them off but that doesn't matter right now. What does matter is the way your body is falling into the pool that is Sollux Captor's eyes and you don't want to be free.

Your bodies mold together, a familiar sensation. You fit together so well, like you were made for one another. Your hands lock around his back, crushing him to you and you to him. Hungry mouths that have gone to long without being feed nip and suck at one another. You tilt your chin and brush against his and you pull back for a moment, wrinkling your nose. 

"You hav-ven't shav-ved yet today. You nev-ver go without shav-ving."

"I'm not allowed to have razorth in my apartment. KK'th gotta thupervithe, I wanted to come over firtht." 

That's a good enough explanation for you and it's been too long since you've kissed him again so you stop any need for words with your lips again. Both of you are desperate, so desperate for each other. He was always the one for you, you always knew it but then that night it changed. Except it didn't really change because you still want to give yourself to him entirely. He's pulling you, his mouth against your neck now, to your bedroom. He knows the way, of course he does. You're already pulling his shirt off before you make it down the hall, leaving he fabric in an abandoned pile on the floor. 

Yours follows, then two pairs of jeans, leading a trail from the front door to your bedroom and right now you are more than just a little glad that you live alone. You trip on the edge of the bed, falling onto it and it's then that Sollux gets a good look at you. At your shoulder specifically. He bites his lip as he reaches out to you, fingers hovering just above the puffy red flesh that's still healing. You get another glimpse of his fresh scars and there's a squeezing inside your chest that makes you reach out and pull him down on top of you. 

It takes only a breath for you both to entwine, your cock hard under your purple briefs, his straining bee print boxers you bought him last year as the friction between them builds. He rolls you both over until you're straddling him, his hands on your ass, making you pant. There are times when the two of you would so and sweet but with the way he's clawing at the fabric this is not one of those times. No it's been too long for both of you and you need to feel his body on yours, in yours. 

He gropes for your nightstand, grabbing the drawer. He knows were you keep your lube, of course he does, how many times have you done this with him? Right now you never want to do anything else. It takes too long for him to get his fingers where you want them, even though you know the time he's taking is for your benefit. When he pushes his first finger inside you the moan that accompanies it is nearly a sob. This is almost more than you can handle but you want more. He's more gentle than you thought he would be as he starts to work you.   By the time he's got a second finger in, your hands have found the length of his cock, your fingers stroking it harder as your need gets stronger. When you nip at his neck he pulls both fingers out, leaving you feeling empty. Your whimper just makes him snicker breathily as he tugs the last remaining fabrics from both of your bodies, leaving you able to really feel him when you crush against him for another kiss. 

He pulls himself up right a little, using your headboard as a rest, pulling on one of your thighs to bring you closer. More lube and the bottle is tossed to the side, neither of you cares to see where it ended up. He slides inside you with a practiced ease that you've missed. It feels like you're almost whole again, with him inside you, his hands on your hips as you rock. You take it slow and steady, torturing with the speed but that's okay because you want to feel every single inch of him. He feels like the best fucking thing in the universe. The only thing you'll ever need.   He tires of your slow speed just before you would have, his hips rolling up into you to encourage what you both want. The rhythm that gets set is fast and hard and desperate and you can feel yourself ready to come apart around him. One of his hands leaves your hips to grip your cock and his hand works in counterpoint to everything else. He knows that's the fastest way to make you spill over. You come with a choked cry of his name, muscles squeezing down on him inside of you as you coat his hand in white. He thrusts up once, twice, three more times before he follows into his climax, spilling his hot seed inside you. 

He tugs you back down, into his arms as he squirms down so he can lay flat. Your head rests on his shoulder, his hand on yours, still hovering over the reminder you wish you could forget. You both know this can't work, this can never work again but for right now you can pretend. 


End file.
